


“That Guy” At Work

by Lights321



Category: Cuphead (Video Game)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Blow Jobs, Bullying, Dirty Talk, Drinking, Dry Humping, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Flirting, Gambling, Grinding, Hair-pulling, M/M, Masturbation, Molestation, Self-Defense, Smoking, Theft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-15 21:59:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14798738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lights321/pseuds/Lights321
Summary: Based off of sleazeboss/TheFaceofaMouse's Young Blood AU. A Smoking Guns fic, detailing how Chips Bettigan may have had his first encounter with Mr. Wheezy. Unbetaed.





	“That Guy” At Work

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheFaceofaMouse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFaceofaMouse/gifts).



Chip stretched leisurely as he walked down the road, his feet echoing absurdly loudly as he strolled along the isolated, winding, trail that lead to the building. It was rare that he walked to work, and the exercise was nice. Even if the environment was a little disheartening.

A cab was his usual option, but Chip had opted to save for a motorbike fairly recently. Every cent counted and he wasn’t the most patient person on the planet. Besides, those long hours of continuous card tricks and distribution of playing pieces ensured his upper body got the workout, not so much his legs.

Chip took a quick glance at his calves as he walked through a shortcut through the train yard. Thankfully, they looked alright.

Not many people knew the exact requirements and implications that came with working at a casino. Especially one with the devils reputation. As far as his rather intimidating manager was concerned, everything had to be perfect. That included his attitude and his calves.  _Urgh_.

Thank goodness he wasn’t a waitress or an escort working there. His line of work required less skin to be shown, and he didn’t like waxing unless he was required to.

The rest of the uphill walk was mostly preoccupied with him whistling. The silence around him was unnerving and the small cheerful noises he emitted made him feel a little better.

Chip found himself before the entrance before he even knew it. Those iconic lights weren’t flashing yet, thank god. If he thought the previous silent walk was unnerving, “King” Dice was a bitch and a half to deal with. He still had some breathing room before opening.

He walked in, the bright interior a stark contrast to the dim outside. Mangosteen was leaning against the wall near the entrance. He looked up from the Penthouse he was reading, dark eyes catching his own. Chip stiffened and held his breath as those eyes stared at him down. After a while the bouncer looked down and returned to his magazine. Chip breathed out a sigh of relief. That bouncer scared the hell out of him at times.

Chip continued down the entrance, plastering his trademark grin unto his face. It was good to practice at times, especially in front of his peers.

It was chaos inside, waitresses, bus boys, janitors and dancers running to and fro, wiping up any residual messes, polishing the tables, organizing the tables and decks. Many of the more  _sequinned_  individuals were racing toward their own rooms and backstage, compacts and lipstick abound.

At the centre of it all, stood Dice. His face didn’t hold his usual smirk, instead he was busy examining the dancers and escorts. The ones he waved away walked away with a relieved grin toward the stage or lounge, others were sent back to the dressing room if he was dissatisfied. A bus boy or cleaner would occasionally run toward him and frantically ask a question.

Chip tried his best to use the chaos to slink past him. Unfortunately, it didn’t work.

“I see you Bettigan.”

Chip sighed, walking toward Dice. "Yes sir?”

He felt those green eyes trail from his worn sneakers, to his sweat pants, open hoodie and black shirt. “All dressed for work; are you?”

Chip gave him a big grin. The icy stare he received back nearly dissuaded him. “On my way to the changing room sir.”

Dice nodded at him. “We have a reservation for a rather large crowd tonight. Another multimillionaires birthday. Let’s crank up that boyish charm tonight, hm? Something that hits the cynical close to home.”

Chip felt his expression shift into a rather large grin at the prospects of earning more money than usual. “Of course sir.”

Dice waved him away, returning his attention to the girls. “Get to that changing room. Ask for help if you need it.”

Chip nodded and began a brisk pace toward the back.

As he walked past the lady's room, a blonde woman with sensual curves in a pink chemise swept out of the room. He was assaulted with a sudden wave of perfume and hair spray. She smiled at him and he blinked back.

His eyes widened and his mouth opened in an oh. “Right! Hey Bon-bon.”

She blew him a kiss back. “See you later cowboy.”

Bon-bon was a dancer at the lounge. Good saleswoman too, persistent. They had a brief fling a few weeks back after-hours.

Chip shook his head. Time to get his head in the game. Tonight was business. If he played his cards right, he could probably get that bike by the end of the month.

He entered the men’s change room. Instead of perfume and hair spray, it was smoke and sandalwood. Thanks to a particular _somebody_.

Oh fantastic. That _somebody_ was in the room.

Mr. Wheezy sat in an armchair, looking up from the magazine he was occupied with as he heard the door swing open. He had a huge cigar chomped between his front teeth. He gave Chip a sleazy grin as he caught the younger man looking at him.

Chip turned his head away and immediately made a beeline to his locker, unlocking it and pulling out his cowboy costume. He accidentally brushed against Pip in his haste, the irritated ex-carnie raising an eyebrow at him. “Want something, jailbait?”

“Go fuck your sister.” Chip snipped back, hearing that maniac Hopus Popus emit a loud laugh at the snark comment. The magician was modelling in front of the full length mirrors, adjusting his top hat.

Chip walked toward the changing rooms, but was suddenly blocked by Mr. Wheezy. He looked up from the broad chest that blocked him at the man himself.

Wheezy blew a cloud of smoke into his face, and Chip scrunched up his face, eyes stinging. “You’re in a hurry.”

Oh, Wheezy was making this easy.

“Brilliant observation. Mind moving that fat ass over a few feet, so I can actually get changed?”

Wheezy grinned back at him. Chip shifted uneasily at the look in the man’s eyes. There was a predatory quality in them. Something that attested to the reason the man was involved with the Devil’s Casino in the first place.  Nobody ever really talked about what exactly they did to wind up in this hell hole, but if it were anything close to what Chip did, _well_.

Then he kind of regretted that “fat” comment right then.

Wheezy looked him up and down, focusing on Chip’s crotch a little longer than necessary. “Changing in a room kid? That’s what a pussy does.”

Wheezy circled around him, still perusing him from head to toe. More focused on his ass at this point. “You’re not a pussy are you kid? Why don’t you change out here? Give us an _inside look_ on what the casino’s most ambitious poker dealer has to offer.”

Chip felt his mouth dry up, the near and sheer mass of the man intimidating him a little more than usual. He still couldn’t stop his fucking mouth, unfortunately.

“And give you a free show? I charge for my talents.”

Wheezy reached out, caressing his ass gently. The soft, almost ticklish touch was a sharp contrast to the man’s smirk and dark eyes, affecting him a little more than the usual hard gropes he received. “Oh, I’m sure you do kid.” Chip felt his throat close up completely at the sudden tension that erupted between him and Wheezy. _Shit. The fuck-_

A voice cleared, quite loudly. Wheezy snatched his hand back, eyes darting to the sound. Chip saw Dice leaning against the open doorway, amused.

“Hard at work gentlemen?”

Wheezy looked pissed. Dice simply smiled back at the man, but it seemed to be disingenuous. Chip took the opportunity to quickly sidestep Wheezy and flee into a change room.

Whatever the fuck that just happened, or whatever it was between that asshole and the manager; he wanted nothing to do with it.

_ Eyes on the prize Bettigan. Those fat cats are gunna make it rain cash tonight. _

He changed into his uniform of sorts. Completely cheesy. But it at least it wasn’t grossly so, and it certainly clung to the right places. He slipped on the boots, taking care to examine them for scruff and dirt. Then the belt, and bandana. Chip slipped on the gloves, picked up his hat, and walked out.

Thankfully, the room was empty. Chip assumed they were finally getting a move on based on how dark it was getting outside. He could already hear the cars pulling up.

Posing before the large mirrors, he did a 360 degree turn. He then straightened his cuffs, pulled up his gloves a little more, fluffed his hair and straightened his shirt. He then walked back to the change room to retrieve his casual clothes and placed them within his locker.

Chip took his hat, placing it on top of his head as he walked back out into the chaos. He let the building’s energy and tension wash over him.

He loved this part of the night. While the eager patrons outside were lining up, watching everyone frantically scrambling to their own positions, mentally preparing themselves.

Chip strolled over to his table, Texas Hold’Em. He surveyed the others in the playing area, most of them in their respective dresses, suits, or costumes.

He took a deep breath, rolling his shoulders, organizing and shuffling the cards before him, readying himself for the games that were about to start. Unlike many of the other tables in the house, his table involved the patrons playing against him than against luck or each other.

That was a part of the reason why his table was so successful. A stupid costume combined with his fake Texan drawl and boyish looks often presented the image that he wasn’t as proficient at the game as he could be.

They were wrong. All of them. And Chip was happy to prove that fact until they realized it themselves, became bankrupt, or until Mangosteen threw them out. Especially in that order.

Finally, he heard the doors opening, and the distant rumble of customers walking in. Chip straightened his back, his arms open and rested on the countertop. A good old grin to balance the look.

Game on.

* * *

 

It was a good night.

A _productive_ night.

Chip tallied the bills in his hand, resting at the bar with a glass of I.W Harper bourbon within arms reach. The custodians behind him swept the confetti away and mopped the sticky floors while various dancers milled around the bar, counting their tips.

He had barely sustained any real losses, other than the ones he purposely lost to encourage one group of particularly frustrated patrons. When he showed Dice the scoreboard and overall profits, the manager had given him a solid squeeze on the shoulder and ordered Martini to pour him a glass on the house.

Of course Chip hadn’t shown Dice all the money, especially the tips and playing pieces he had accumulated that night. A by-product of all those bills and hard coins shoved down the front of his pants, not even necessarily by him. Mostly trophy wives and cougars who had even added a little extra stroke along their hundreds.

It had gotten so bad, he had to personally sew a rather large secret pocket in the front of his cowboy jeans for the very purpose of catching cash a few months back. Money was good and all, but he wasn’t too fond of having bills and coins that traveled who-knows-where so close to the money-maker.

Speaking of _money-makers_ …

Chip shivered as he recalled that shit hole Wheezy who had once again approached him earlier that night.

It was in front of a whole group of yuppies, while he was still explaining the rules and stakes. He had smelled the man first, the tell-tale fragrance of cuban smoke and cologne stopping behind him. Chip didn’t even bother turning around.

He later regretted the decision as he felt something hard press against his fucking crack.

Chip viciously cursed the tight jeans he wore in that very moment. For the sake of keeping himself and those yuppies on a roll, he gritted his teeth and ignored it.

Wheezy continued standing there behind him, grinding his boner slowly against Chip’s ass, moving from side-to-side occasionally. That had continued for a while, long enough for Chip to completely dismiss it as an accident or a quick tease. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, he was going to kill the man. He swore it.

Chip bit his lower lip, doing his best to talk, distribute cards and chips as the game progressed. Nobody had seemed any wiser then, more focused on chatting to each other and looking over their own cards. The alcohol, dim and smokey atmosphere had certainly not helped their awareness.

Chip was so focused on his audience, he emitted a muted yelp as he felt a large hand wrap around his crotch and squeeze. His cock stiffened at the rough touch, rousing to the sudden occasion.

Thank Christ his front was at least somewhat obscured by the table, but the sound he emitted captured the attention of one gentleman; who looked up. Fortunately, they quickly looked down; more focused on the progression of the game and the cards within their hands.

Chip began to nervously stutter, the grip on the front of his pants evolving to a series of massages, squeezing his rapidly growing cock, and lightly tracing the tip.

Dammit.

He could still feel the man grinding against him. It was like Wheezy was determined to tear through his own trousers and Chip’s jeans with his dick alone.

He then grabbed Wheezy’s forefinger, twisting it back against the man sharply, grinning in malicious glee as he heard Wheezy give a quiet swear and snatch his hand back. Chips felt the hard length leave his ass, as Wheezy turned and left.

Chip beckoned over Tommy, long-suffering but annoyingly upbeat trainee/assistant. He whispered “Going for a smoke” in the other man’s ears. Tommy eagerly took his spot, chatting with the players amicably.

Chip immediately followed Wheezy through the crowd, grabbing the older man hard by the suspenders.

He had a split second to admire the shocked look on the other man’s face, before pulling him into the bathroom.

By the time he shoved Wheezy into the stall and unto the toilet, he was a little disappointed to see that uncharacteristically surprised expression revert back to his usual smugness.

Chip slammed the bathroom door closed, locked, and kneeled down, roughly tugging down Wheezy’s zipper and underwear.

“Slow down there kiddo. Don’t want to rip something, do we?”

Chip huffed as he pulled out that stiff cock, taking moment to admire it in the bathroom’s lighting. “Shut the fuck up and enjoy this you limp-dicked geezer.”

“Well if you - _sHIT kid_!”

Chip immediately deep-throated the older man’s cock in a smooth swallow. He was only slightly ashamed that he was already salivating long before he even had the man’s dick in his mouth, but hey, shit happens.

Though he’d rather castrate himself with plastic scissors before admitting it to Wheezy.

He began bobbing his head, the smooth feeling of the cock trailing over his tongue, almost too big to avoid the teeth.

Wheezy certainly wasn’t the longest cock he saw in his years, but he was as thick as anything. Similar to the man himself. He let it pop out of his mouth, admiring the shiny sheen brought on by saliva, the throbbing vein on the underside, before taking it in deeply, his nose buried in Wheezy’s public hair. God, it was so unfair. Even the man’s fucking musk turned him on beyond anything he could imagine now.

He was so occupied with sucking Wheezy’s dick, he realized that the man was actually speaking.

“Oh yeah… that’s it, you scrawny little twink… sucking my cock like a piece of candy you loose bathroom whore…”

Chip rolled his eyes, a familiar spark of irritation crawling back into his stomach. He warningly clenched down on Wheezy’s dick, making the man aware that if he was really pissed off, he wouldn’t be adverse to biting.

Wheezy chuckled in response, raising his hand to stroke Chip’s hair, knocking his hat to the ground in the process.

“Don’t be like that sweetheart. Just giving your precious lily-white ass the praise it deserves.”

Chip growled, debating on leaving now, leaving the man high and dry. But a deeper, much darker part of him enjoyed this. The situation he was placed in, where he was quite literally unable to snip back. Mouth stuffed full of dick, helpless to suffer at Wheezy’s humiliating remarks.

A much as he hated it, his treacherous cock loved the treatment.

The consensus he reached was to get the man off as quickly as possible, himself in the process, and get back to work.

He began sucking hard, digging his tongue hard against the tip, and focusing his efforts on the sensitive underside if possible.

Wheezy hissed, throwing his head back. Chips felt satisfaction at the slight thud he heard, squeezing his right hand around the bottom of the length he was slurping down, using his left to palm and press against his own dick.

This continued for a while, the bitter and salt like taste building on his tongue, Wheezy muttering more dirty talk, and Chip’s underwear steadily becoming more and more damp.

When the heat became too much to bear, he unzipped his jeans, took out his own cock, and began stroking it to the same rhythm he used to gulp down the man’s length. Chip was practically was dripping like a faucet, leaning his entire body closer to Wheezy. His body obscured his own personal problem, but he couldn’t stop the moans that came up from his throat.

“You little slut, getting off sucking dick… Should pay your skinny ass after it’s over, urgh, with money or a hard fucking, what do you think?”

Chips didn’t answer, electing to simply squeeze the base of Wheezy’s length harder, even fondling the balls underneath.

He felt Wheezy grip his hair, his own hips giving occasional spastic thrust into the younger man’s mouth. An sign that he was near his own climax.

Chip was close too. He closed his eyes, immersing himself in the moment, his cock throbbing in sync with the one in his mouth. He came suddenly, a splash of cum against the underside of the toilet Wheezy sat on, shivering violently and whimpering around the cock in his mouth. He rubbed his own wet tip vigorously through his own orgasm, enjoying the torturous hypersensitivity he created for himself.

He felt Wheezy grip his hair hard. The sudden jolt of pain seemed to zip directly toward his own still sensitive cock.

“Fuck!” was the only warning he received before he felt the sudden spurt of cum fill his mouth.

Chip leaned back, stroking Wheezy through his climax, feeling the last few ropes coat his mouth. When it finally stopped, he gave a few more experimental sucks, hearing the man above him give a small groan.

Standing up, he smiled to himself as he saw Wheezy’s full state for himself. The man’s face was covered in a sheen of sweat, his eyes hooded, chest rising and falling rapidly. Surprisingly, there was even a light flush on the man’s face and partly exposed chest.

When Chip saw Wheezy glance up at him and he spat whatever cum remained in his mouth unto the side of the stall, wiping his mouth clean and watching Wheezy’s exhausted expression shift into that familiar grin.

“Aw baby… You don’t love me?”

Chip spun on his heel, walked out of the stall, bathroom and into the bustling casino without a word.

As he trekked back toward his table, he felt his expression curl up into a smile, still tasting the man on his lips. He made a quick stop at the bar, rinsing his mouth with cheap whiskey and popping a mint, winking at Martini’s knowing smirk.

He worked diligently and quite happily for the rest of the night. Tommy seemed none the wiser, exactly how Chip preferred the people around him.

Then his shift ended, he went and traded whatever chips he possessed for cash and here he was.

Even now as he counted the bills in his hands, he still felt his cock twitch in interest. But as far as he was concerned, tonight was a one time thing. No repeats. It was how he operated, and it sure as hell wasn’t going to change for some _fat ass_ with a half-way decent co-

He suddenly smelled that familiar odour of smoke and cologne again, the only alert he received before he felt himself grabbed by the belt and smashed against a very familiar and very squishy chest.

He barely had time to see that it was Wheezy before the man engulfed him in a great big open-mouthed kiss.

Chip moaned as a large tongue swept into his mouth, assaulted with the flavour of tobacco alongside cloves, nutmeg and cinnamon.

He let the other man suck on his tongue, nipping the tip.

Chip was then dropped unceremoniously to the ground, half hard again. He stared up at Wheezy, eyes wide and speechless. The man beamed down at him, casual as anything.

“I reckon you don’t have a car, squirt. Why don’t you carpool with me? I’ll even take you home real gentleman-like. Eventually.”

It was a bad idea. He hardly even knew this man other than those large wandering hands.

But Chip found himself changed, with a pocket full of cash, clinging unto the arm of a certain someone who he was sure was going to teach him the scale, gravity, and weight of his most recent poor decision.

Hopefully, severely.

**Author's Note:**

> So basically my interpretation of how Chips and Wheezy got together in the first place. I’m almost  
> 100% positive that Chips is going to find half of his cash missing in the morning. Poor, sad bastard. What's even sadder is that their relationship probably still continues after that.
> 
> I projected a lot on this fic, I think I need therapy.


End file.
